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RRMH 

Maurice  in  the  woods.    Page  101. 


fj 


ALNTY 


J 


AURICE, 


o», 


3tost  in   tM  floods 


BT 

RENA  RAY, 

4UTKOK   OF   "TABWHA   TODD,"   ';UTTUg   JACKIB,"   *C 


PHILADELPHIA: 

jam:ks  a.  moorb, 

1224  Sansom  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1870,  by 

J.  P.  S KELLY  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  page 

PROVIDING  FOR  MAURICE 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  Pleasant  Dream 14 

CHAPTER  III. 
Going  to  Aunt  Poor's 25 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Aunt  Poor  at  Home 34 

CHAPTER  V. 
Maurice  sees  more  Strange  Things 47 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Maurice  is  Homesick 62 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII.                      page 
Maueice  Loses  his  Appetite 71 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  Night  at  Aunt  Poor's , 86 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Lost  and  Found 96 


DAINTY    MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PROVIDING      FOR      MAURICE. 

rIVAURICE  was   an  only  child, 

hi 

[  never  having  had  a  brother 
J  or  sister.  But  he  had  rela- 
tives— uncles,  aunts  and  cousins, 
as  he  thought,  without  number, 
who  had  petted  him  from  his 
earliest  infancy.  He  was  very 
fond  of  candy  and  all  kinds  of 
confectionery,  as  children  usually 
l*  5 


6  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

are.  He  loved  raisins,  and  nuts, 
and  oranges,  a  taste  for  which 
he  had  always  an  opportunity 
of  indulging  to  excess,  for  every 
uncle,  aunt  and  cousin  that  visited 
at  his  father's  house,  brought 
him  a  package  well  filled  with 
various  kinds  of  sweet  things. 
Maurice  was  very  fond,  too,  of 
cake,  puddings  and  pies,  and 
every  nice  dish  that  could  tempt 
the  appetite. 

So  great  an  epicure  did  Mau- 
rice become,  that,  when  he  was 
only  ten  years  old,  he  would  go  into 
the  dining-room  when  the  meal 
was  about  ready  to  be  served,  and, 
if  the  fare  upon  the  table,  which 


'■) 


PROVIDING  FOR  MAURICE. 

he  scanned  with  an  eager  eye 
did  not  happen  to  please  him, 
he  would  turn  away  with  angry 
frowns,  and  would  not  taste  food 
until  his  mother  had  prepared 
some  nice  dish  to  suit  his  dainty 
palate.  Sometimes  his  mother 
did  not  like  to  do  this,  for  she 
feared  her  boy  would  be  spoiled 
by  so  much  indulgence;  but  he 
was  her  only  child,  and  she  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  moody  and 
sullen,  with  his  handsome  face 
covered  with  frowns,  when  such 
a  trifle  as  a  nice  dish  upon 
the  table  would  make  him  plea- 
sant and  smiling. 

"Poor  boy!   he  has  no  appe- 


8  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

tite,"  she  would  say  in  apology, 
as  she  coaxed  Maurice  to  the 
table  with  some  nice  sweetmeats, 
or  jellies,  or  a  large  piece  of  fruit- 
cake, a  supply  of  which  she  kept 
always  on  hand,  in  order  to  have 
something  nice  for  tea  should 
unexpected  visitors  chance  to  drop 
in. 

"Good  reason  the  poor  boy 
has  no  appetite,"  said  Charity, 
the  housemaid — who  was  quite 
a  privileged  person — one  day, 
when  Mrs.  Marvin  had  left  the 
dinner-table,  and  was  breaking 
some  eggs  to  make  a  hasty 
pudding  for  her  son.  "If  the 
poor    boy  wasn't    pampered    so, 


PROVIDING  FOR  MAURICE.  9 

and  would  only  let  his  jaws  rest 
awhile,  he  would  have  as  good 
an  appetite  as  I  have,  and  eat 
everything  with  as  good  a  relish 
as  I  do,  and  grow  as  fat  and 
as  healthy — not  as  I  am,  for  I 
am  lean  enough — but  as  fat  and 
as  healthy  as  little  Christian 
Klien." 

"Why,  Charity,  how  can  you 
talk  so?"  rejoined  Mrs.  Marvin, 
a  little  resentfully,  as  she  hung 
a  kettle  of  milk  over  the  fire. 
"You  know  very  well  that  my 
slender,  fragile,  delicate  Maurice 
would  never  look  like  that  sturdy 
little  German  boy,  with  cheeks 
as  red   as    a    blood-beet,   and   a 


10  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

face   as  full   and   round    as    the 
moon." 

"I  know  if  Maurice  bad  been 
brought  up  as  Christian  Klien 
has  he  would  have  red  cheeks, 
and  a  full  face,  too,"  returned 
Charity,  firmly,  as  she  poured 
some  wine  into  the  cream -sauce, 
which  she  was  preparing  for  the 
pudding  that  Mrs.  Marvin  was 
engaged  in  making.  "Maurice 
was  never  intended  for  such  a 
whipstock  of  a  pimping  boy; 
he  looks  too  fair  and  slender 
for  a  girl,  and  it's  nothing  in 
the  world  that's  made  him  so 
but  being  fed  on  candy  and  pam- 
pered to  death  ever  since  he  was 


PROVIDING  FOR  MAURICE.  11 

born,  and  it'll  be  the  death  of  him, 
indeed  it  will,  in  the  end.  Now  I 
can  just  tell  you  what  I'd  do,  Mrs. 
Marvin;  I'd  throw  that  pudding 
and  this  cream-sauce  to  the  pigs, 
sooner  than  I'd  let  that  boy  have 
a  bit  of  it.  I'd  commence  this  very 
day,  and  make  him  eat  what  the 
rest  do  or  let  him  go  without  his 
dinner  just  as  he  pleases.  And 
by-and-by  I  guess  he'd  come  to  his 
appetite." 

"But  he  don't  like  a  boiled 
dinner,  he  never  did ;  there's  cab- 
bage, he  never  could  bear,"  said 
Mrs.  Marvin,  apologetically. 

"There's  good  reason  he  don't 
like    a   boiled    dinner,"   rejoined 


12  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

Charity  expressively,  as  she  started 
to  take  the  cream-sauce  into  the 
dining-room. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Charity,"  called 
Mrs.  Marvin,  taking  the  pudding 
from  the  kettle.  "You  haven't 
flavored  that  sauce,  have  you?" 

"The  wine  has  flavored  it 
enough,  I  should  think ;"  returned 
Charity,  without  turning  around. 

"Bring it  here,  Charity,  and  I'll 
turn  a  little  vanilla  into  it ;  Mau- 
rice is  so  fond  of  vanilla,"  said 
Mrs.  Marvin,  setting  down  the 
pudding  dish ;  and  getting  a  vial 
she  turned  a  small  portion  of  its 
contents  into  the  cream.  "  Here, 
stir  it  well,"  she  continued,  "  and 


PROVIDING  FOR  MAURICE.  13 

take  this  pudding  too,  and  I'll  get 
some  biscuit  and  dried  beef,  and  a 
little  jelly ;  poor  boy,  it  won't  do  for 
him  to  go  without  his  dinner." 

"  I  guess  the  poor  boy  would  go 
without  his  dinner  if  I  could  have 
my  way,"  muttered  Charity  to  her- 
self, with  a  decided  turn  of  her 
head ;  as  she  took  the  pudding  and 
cream-sauce  into  the  dining-room, 
where  Mr.  Marvin  sat  eating  and 
Maurice  sat  waiting  for  his  dinner. 


14  DAINTY  MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PLEASANT      DREAM. 

UfAUBiCE  was  not  only  very 
dainty  respecting  his  food, 
but  he  was  very  dainty  also 
regarding  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  served.  He  liked  to  see  a 
table  spread  with  china,  cut  glass, 
and  silver,  and  appeared  always  to 
enjoy  his  meals  better  when  re- 
ceived from  articles  of  this  descrip- 
tion. He  had  a  very  refined  taste, 
his  mother  said,  so  much  so,  that 
he  disdained  common  earthenware, 


A  PLEASANT  DREAM.  15 

and  sooner  than  eat  with  a  pewter 
spoon  he  would  leave  the  daintiest 
dish  untouched.  This  taste  had 
been  instilled  into  his  mind  in 
early  childhood,  having  then  had 
a  silver  cup  and  spoon  and  fork 
for  his  own  use,  and  it  is  not 
strange  that  it  increased  with 
years,  especially  as  it  was  en- 
couraged instead  of  corrected  by 
his  parents  and  numerous  relatives. 
Sometimes  Charity,  who  had  lived 
in  the  family  for  many  years,  would 
exclaim  against  the  injudicious  in- 
dulgence observed  toward  Maurice, 
and  Mrs.  Marvin  would  resolve  to 
bring  him  under  a  little  better 
discipline.     But  he  was   an  only 


16  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

child;  he  was  sensitive,  nervous, 
and  delicate,  and  her  good  resolu- 
tions regarding  him  were  seldom, 
if  ever,  put  into  practice. 

After  Maurice  had  partaken  of 
the  dainty  repast  which  his  mother 
had  prepared  for  him,  he  threw 
himself  down  upon  the  sofa,  as  he 
usually  did  after  dinner,  and  fell 
asleep.  While  he  slept  he  dreamed 
so  pleasantly  about  an  aged  rela- 
tive, an  aunt  of  his  mother's,  that 
when  he  awoke  he  felt  a  strong 
desire  to  go  and  see  her.  His 
aunt,  Mrs.  Poor  by  name,  was  a 
very  pleasant  old  lady,  but  plain 
spoken  and  old-fashioned.  She 
lived  onlv  a  few  miles  distant  from 


A  PLEASANT  DREAM.  17 

Mr.  Marvin's,  but  she  seldom 
came  to  see  them,  for  she  kept 
no  carriage,  and  she  could  not 
walk  so  far,  and  they  went  quite 
as  seldom  to  see  her,  but  not 
for  the  same  reasons.  Mr.  Mar- 
vin kept  a  carriage  and  horses 
and  driver,  but  old  Aunt  Poor 
was  not  only  poor  by  name,  but 
poor  in  this  world's  goods,  and 
her  little,  quiet  home  and  plain 
manner  of  living  presented,  as 
is  usually  the  case,  but  few  at- 
tractions for  her  more  wealthy 
friends. 

Maurice  had  never  been  to 
visit  his  Aunt  Poor,  and  he  had 
not   seen    her  in    a    long    time. 

2* 


18  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

The  only  remembrance  lie  had 
of  her  was  that  she  came  once 
to  see  them,  and  brought  him 
quite  a  number  of  nice  little 
cakes  of  maple  sugar,  and  some 
colored  eggs,  with  which  he  was 
greatly  pleased.  He  had  scarcely 
thought  of  the  pleasant  little  gift, 
however,  since  the  day  he  re- 
ceived it  from  his  aunt's  hands. 
But  while  he  lay  asleep  upon 
the  sofa  he  dreamed  of  it.  He 
saw,  very  plainly,  the  small  splint 
basket,  gaily  checked  with  red 
and  blue,  and  rilled  with  little 
scolloped  cakes,  among  which 
were  lying  several  highly  colored 
eggs — one  bright  red,  one  yellow, 


A  PLEASANT  DREAM.  19 

one  purple,  and  one  covered  with 
gay  flowers.  The  dream  was 
pleasant  to  him.  The  sensations 
which  he  experienced  at  the  time 
of  receiving  the  basket  and  its 
contents  were  all  revived,  and  he 
sprang  up  from  the  sofa  as  soon 
as  he  awoke,  crying  out,  "  Mother, 
I  am  going  right  away  to  see 
Aunt  Poor.'7 

Mrs.  Marvin  looked  quickly 
up  from  the  book  she  was  reading 
and  fixed  her  eyes  inquiringly 
upon  Maurice,  as  if  she  thought 
he  could  not  be  awake. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Aunt  Poor, 
I  say,"  he  repeated,  with  greater 
emphasis. 


20  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

"Going  to  see  Aunt  Poor!" 
rejoined  Mrs.  Marvin,  greatly  as- 
tonished. "What  could  have  put 
that  into  your  head,  Maurice  ?" 

"Why,  I  dreamed  of  her  just 
now,  and  that  made  me  want 
to  go  and  see  her." 

"Dreamed  of  her!"  reiterated 
Mrs.  Marvin,  quite  mystified,  not 
having  thought  of  her  aunt  for 
many  a  day,  and  supposing  that 
Maurice  scarcely  knew  of  her 
existence. 

"  Yes,  I  dreamed  of  her,  and 
a  pleasant  dream  it  was,  too," 
returned  Maurice,  his  eyes  bright- 
ening. "Don't  you  remember, 
mother,  Aunt   Poor  came  to   see 


A  PLEASANT  DREAM.  21 

us  once — oh,  a  great  while  ago — 
and  brought  me  a  handsome  little 
basket  filled  with  nice  little  cakes 
of  maple  sugar,  and  some  pretty 
colored  eggs." 

"  0,  yes,  I  do  remember  it 
now,"  replied  Mrs.  Marvin,  after 
a  moment's  reflection,  "but  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  it  again. 
So,  upon  the  strength  of  your 
dreaming  of  these  things,  you 
have  taken  a  notion  to  go  and 
see  Aunt  Poor,  have  you?  But 
you  won't  find  maple  sugar  and 
colored  eggs  there  now,  it  is  out 
of  the  season;  you  must  wait 
till  next  spring,  Maurice." 

"  0,  but  I  want  to  go  to-day !" 


22  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

he  exclaimed,  earnestly.     "  I  don't 

expect  to  find  maple  sugar   and 

colored    eggs,    but    I    guess    I'll 

find   something  else  that's  plea- 
sant." 

"I    don't    know    about    that; 

I    am   rather   inclined   to    think 

that  you  wouldn't  find  anything 

that    you    would    call    pleasant, 

Maurice,"    replied    Mrs.    Marvin, 

doubtfully,  feeling  that  her  dainty 

son  would  not  find  anything  in 

or   around   Aunt    Poor's   humble 

abode    to    please    his    fastidious 

taste.     "But  if  you  want  to  go 

and  see  Aunt  Poor  this  afternoon, 

you  had   better   run   right  away 

and    tell    Zeke    to    harness    the 


A  PLEASANT  BREAM.  23 

horse,  so  you  can  get  back  before 
dark." 

"  0,  but,  mother,  I  am  not 
coming  back  to-day.  I  am  going 
to  make  Aunt  Poor  a  visit.  I 
shall  stay  till  to-morrow  night 
certainly;"  for  Maurice  felt,  from 
the  dream,  with  which  he  was 
so  delighted,  that  he  would  find 
many  pleasant  things  at  his 
aunt's,  and  would  enjoy  his  visit 
very  much. 

"Very  well;  you  can  stay  as 
long  as  you  choose,"  said  Mrs. 
Marvin,  thinking  that  he  would 
not  choose  to  stay  long,  but  would 
be  quite  ready  to  return  home 
with  Zeke.     Maurice  did  not  stop 


24  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

to  say  anything  more,  but  ran 
out  in  great  haste  and  ordered 
Zeke  to  harness  the  horse  as 
quickly  as  possible. 


G OING  TO  A VNT  POOR'S.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

GOING      TO      AUNT      POOR'S. 

Q^THILE  Maurice  stood  in  the 
yard  watching  Zeke,  as  he 
harnessed  the  horse,  and 
calling  to  him  every  now  and 
then  to  make  haste,  Charity, 
who  was  sweeping  off  the  walk 
which  led  to  the  door,  asked 
where  he  was  going  that  he 
was  so  impatient  to  get  started. 

"I  am  going  to  Aunt  Poor's 
to  make  a  visit,  a  good  long  visit. 
I  intend  to  stay  till  to-morrow," 

3 


26  DANITY  MAURICE. 

replied  Maurice-,  manifesting  more 
interest  than  usual  when  prepar- 
ing to  go  to  see  some  friend. 

"Ah  I"  exclaimed  Charity,  stop- 
ping her  work  and  resting  both 
hands  upon  the  broom,  for  she 
felt  as  much  surprised  as  Mrs. 
Marvin  had  done. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  Aunt 
Poor's,"  repeated  Maurice,  with 
great  emphasis,  and  with  as  ex- 
ulting an  air  as  if  he  were  go- 
ing to  some  extraordinary  place. 
"Don't  you  think  I  will  have 
a  nice  time,  Charity?" 

"I  think  /  would  have  a  nice 
time,"  replied  Charity,  feeling 
that    she    would    enjoy    a    visit 


G OING  TO  A VNT  POOR'S.  27 

far  better  than  Maurice  would. 
"  I  spent  a  week  with  your  Aunt 
Poor  once,  and  I  would  gladly 
have  stayed  a  week  longer;  but 
I  guess  an  hour  will  be  as  long 
as  you  will  stay,  Maurice." 

"I  guess  it  won't,"  replied 
Maurice,  tartly;  "I  guess  you 
won't  see  me  back  before  to- 
morrow night.  If  you  do,  I'll 
give  you  my  silver  cup." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  forget  that," 
replied  Charity,  pointedly.  "If 
you  do,  I  shall  not." 

".No,  I  won't  forget  it,"  cried 
out  Maurice,  as  he  sprang  iuto  the 
carriage;  "if  I  am  back  before  to- 
morrow night  the  cup  is  yours." 


28  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

"  Ha,  ha !  you'll  lose  your  cup !" 
exclaimed  Zeke,  cracking  his 
whip.  u  You'll  be  back  to-night, 
I'll  bet  a  dollar." 

"I'll  bet  a  dollar  I  won't," 
rejoined  Maurice,  quite  spiritedly. 

"  Take  care  you'll  lose  your 
dollar,  too,"  said  Zeke  with  a 
knowing  turn  of  his  head. 
"  Charity  and  I  will  be  the  richer 
for  your  visit  to-day,  Maurice." 

"I  guess  you  won't,"  replied 
Maurice,  confidently.  "  I'll  be 
the  richer,  and  you'll  be  the 
poorer,  for  you'll  lose  your  dollar." 

"  I'll  add  another  dollar  to  it  if 
I  do,"  returned  Zeke,  laughing, 
for  he  felt  quite  sure  that  dainty 


G OING  TO  A VNT  POOR'S.  29 

Maurice  would  not  pass  even  an 
hour  under  old  Mrs.  Poor's  humble 
roof. 

"I'll  bet  you  ten  dollars  that 
I'll  stay  at  Aunt  Poor's  till  to- 
morrow night,"  cried  out  Maurice, 
in  an  excited  tone,  his  cheek  flush- 
ing. 

"We'll  see  who's  right  before 
to-morrow  night,"  said  Zeke,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"Yes,  we  will  see!"  returned 
Maurice,  so  vexed  that  he  would 
not  open  his  lips  again  for  some 
time,  but  sat  with  them  tightly 
sealed,  unmindful  of  Zeke's  merry 
remarks. 

"  But  by  and  by  the  warm  sun- 

3* 


30  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

shine  and  fresh  air  had  such  a 
pleasant  influence  over  his  spirits, 
that  ere  he  was  aware  he  began  to 
talk,  and  while  the}7  were  driving 
through  a  thick  woods  he  was  so 
interested  in  watching  the  squirrels 
that  went  scampering  over  the 
ground  and  up  the  trees,  that  he 
quite  forgot  whither  he  was  going. 

As  the  carriage  drove  up  before 
a  small  humble  looking  dwelling, 
situated  near  the  highway,  a  mile 
or  so  beyond  the  wood,  Maurice 
cried  out,  "Why,  what  are  you 
stopping  here  for,  Zeke  ?" 

"For  you  to  get  out,"  replied 
Zeke,  laconically. 

"  For  me  to  get  out !"  returned 


G  OING  TO  A  TINT  PO  OR '  8.  31 

Maurice,  almost  angrily.  "Why 
do  you  suppose  I  want  to  get  out 
here  ?" 

"  To  see  your  Aunt  Poor." 

"My  Aunt  Poor  doesn't  live 
here!"  exclaimed  Maurice,  his 
heart  sinking. 

"Yes,  your  Aunt  Poor  lives 
here,"  replied  Zeke,  emphatically. 

"Well,  I  shan't  get  out,  that's 
the  amount  of  it ;  I  am  not  going 
into  that  dismal  looking  place," 
said  Maurice  decidedly,  his  whole 
face  expressing  the  utmost  dis- 
gust. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  just  as  I  thought ; 
ha,  ha,  ha!  you've  lost  your  cup 
and  dollar !"  cried  out  Zeke  merrily, 


82  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

which  so  irritated  Maurice  that  he 
replied  quickly, 

"  No  I  havn't  lost  my  cup  and 
dollar.  I  shall  stay  here  till  to- 
morrow night,  just  as  I  calculated 
to,  and  don't  you  come  for  me  a 
moment  sooner;  if  you  do,  you'll 
go  back  without  me,  that's  all." 

"I'll  do  just  as  you  say,"  re- 
sponded Zeke,  with  a  merry 
twinkle  of  his  eye,  for  he  knew 
that  Maurice  by  staying  that 
length  of  time,  would  bring  a 
greater  punishment  upon  himself 
than  he  had  ever  before  endured. 

"Well,  I  say,  turn  around  right 
away  and  don't  show  yourself  here 
again  till  to-morrow  night,"  said 


GOING  TO  AUNT  POOR'S.  33 

Maurice  authoritatively,  springing 
from  the  carriage. 

"  Guess  you'd  better  go  in  first 
and  sit  a  spell,  and  see  how  you 
like  it  before  I  turn  around,  hadn't 
you?"  replied  Zeke  significantly, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"No,  that  I  shan't;  so  off  with 
you !"  cried  out  Maurice  sharply, 
becoming  more  and  more  irritated 
by  Zeke's  words  and  manner. 
Zeke  said  no  more,  but  turning 
directly  around  cracked  his  whip 
and  drove  rapidly  away. 


34  DAINTY  MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
AUNT      POOR      AT      HOME. 

'OR  a  moment  Maurice  stood 
and  cast  a  quick  searching 
glance  around  him.  The 
house  and  its  surroundings  was 
far  from  being  attractive.  He  was 
greatly  disappointed  in  the  resi- 
dence of  his  Aunt  Poor.  He  had 
not  expected  to  find  a  palace; 
indeed  he  had  not  thought  much 
about  it,  but  he  had  an  undefined 
feeling  or  impression  that  he 
would  find  something  in  some  way 


A UNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  35 

or  other  that  would  be  very 
pleasant.  He  looked  at  the  house, 
it  was  low,  long,  and  dingy.  The 
paint,  which  was  yellow,  had  been 
all  or  nearly  all  worn  off;  a  door, 
which  had  once  been  stained  a 
reddish  brown,  was  in  the  centre 
with  two  windows  on  each  side  of 
it.  Near  the  house  was  a  shed 
under  which  some  wood  was  piled, 
some  sheep  were  lying,  and  some 
hens  were  burrowing.  Just  over 
the  way  was  a  barn,  almost  black 
from  the  effects  of  time  and 
weather,  around  which  some  cattle 
were  gathered.  A  horse  or  two 
looked  sleepily  over  the  fence,  and 
several  cows  of  an  uncertain  color 


36  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

stood  with  their  eyes  half  shut 
lazily  chewing  their  cuds.  A 
number  of  pigs,  large  and  small, 
were  rooting  and  squealing,  and  a 
couple  of  guinea  hens  crying  with 
varying  tone,  "buckwheat,  buck- 
wheat, buckwheat!"  while  a 
turkey  or  so  gobbled  away  very 
perseveringly.  With  these  no  very 
pleasant  sounds  were  blended  the 
noisy  cackle  of  hens,  the  crowing 
of  cocks,  and  the  clatter  of  some 
machinery  within  the  barn. 

"  0  dear  me !  what  shall  I  do," 
groaned  Maurice,  his  heart  sinking 
within  his  breast.  He  turned 
from  contemplating  the  house  and 
shed  and  barn,    and  looked  this 


A UNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  37 

way  and  that,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
something  pleasant,  but  nothing 
met  his  view,  only  fields  and  hills 
and  woods,  all  of  which  seemed  to 
him  exceedingly  dismal.  Not  a 
house  was  to  be  seen  in  any  direc- 
tion, nor  a  man,  woman,  or  child. 
Maurice  never  had  been  in  so 
lonely  a  place  before,  and  such  a 
feeling  of  desolation  came  over 
him  that  he  was  just  beginning  to 
cry,  when  a  large  dog  came  out  of 
the  barn  and  ran  towards  him 
barking  furiously. 

"Get  out!  get  out!"  screamed 
Maurice,  throwing  up  his  arms 
and  flourishing  his  hat.  "Get 
out !  get  out !"  he  continued  to  cry 


38  DA  INTT  MA  TJRICE. 

in  great  affright  as  the  dog  drew 
near. 

At  this  moment  the  door 
opened,  and  a  voice,  called  out, 
"  La  me !  the  dog  won't  hurt  you. 
He,  he,  I  didn't  know  what  the 
rumpus  was  all  about  Shame  on 
ye,  Tiger,  to  skeer  the  poor  boy 
so."  At  this  rebuke  the  dog 
dropped  his  tail  and  slank  away, 
and  Maurice  recovering  a  little 
from  his  fright,  said,  as  he  wiped 
the  perspiration  which  had  started 
like  rain  from  his  forehead, 

"  The  odious  beast  ought  to  be 
killed.  You  might  well  call  him 
Tiger,  for  he  is  as  fierce  as  one.  I 
should    have    been    torn    all    to 


AUNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  39 

pieces  if  you  had  not  come  out 
just  as  you  did,  ma'am." 

"Why,  la  me,  child,  the  dog 
wouldn't  a  tech'd  you,  for  all  his 
ugly  name,  no  more  'n  if  he'd 
been  a  lamb.  He  kinder  ain't 
use  to  seein'  strangers  much,  an' 
that's  why  he  makes  sich  a  fuss  a 
barkin'  at  'em.  I'm  real  sorry,  I 
be,  that  he  skeer'd  you  so;  but 
come  in  child,  an'  old  Aunt  Poor 
'11  try  and  make  up  for  the  dog's 
bad  manners ;  come  in,"  and  room 
was  made  in  the  door  for  Maurice 
to  enter. 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  will,  for 
I  have  come  purposely  to  visit 
Aunt  Poor,"  replied  Maurice. 


40  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

"  Now  that's  real  kind  on  you. 
But  whose  boy  might  ye  be?" 
inquired  the  old  lady  with  a  scru- 
tinizing glance. 

"  My  name  is  Maurice  Marvin 
I  am  Lawyer   Marvin's   son,"  re- 
plied   Maurice,    drawing    himself 
proudly  up.     "  Is   my  aunt,  Mrs. 
Poor,  at  home,  ma'am?" 

"Bless  yer  heart,  child,  I'm 
Aunt  Poor,  an'  nobody  else,  an' 
Ps  'mazin'  glad,  'at  I  be,  to  see 
Earner's  son.  I  was  a  talkin' 
on'y  t'other  day,  'bout  David  an' 
Harner  an'  the  little  boy,  an'  I 
felt  'at  I  mus'  try  an'  get  to  see 
'em  once  more.  It's  a  long  spell 
since   I   was    there,    an'    you've 


A UNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  41 

grow'd  'mazin'ly.  'Spose  now  you 
don't  'member  the  leetle  cakes  o' 
sugar  an'  the  party  eggs  I  fetch'd 
you.  Tain't  no  ways  likely  you 
do,  it's  such  a  long  spell  ago,  but 
you  was  dreffle  tickled  with  'em, 
though ;  an'  mebby  you  hain't 
forgot  'em  yet,  it's  'sprisin'  how 
long  children  '11  'member  things. 
I  know  when  I  wan't  more  'n 
three  or  four  years  old,  my  granny 
came,  one  day,  from  a  long  way 
off,  an'  fetch'd  me  some  jes  sich 
leetle  cakes  o'  sugar  and  purty 
eggs  as  I  fetch'd  you,  an'  I  was 
jes  's  tickled  's  you  was,  Morris. 
I  never  forgot  it  to  this  day,  for 
all  it's  nigh  upon  seventy  years 

4* 


42  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

ago;  an'  mebby  you  hain't  forgot 
it  nuther,  I  mean  them  I  fetch'd 
you,  hev  you,  Morris  ?" 

Maurice  looked  up  at  the 
speaker  in  astonishment.  Could 
this  ignorant  old  woman,  with 
thin  gray  hair  and  face  crossed 
and  recrossed  with  wrinkles,  be 
his  Aunt  Poor  ?  It  could  not  be 
possible.  He  would  not  acknow- 
ledge her  as  a  relative,  and  he 
was  about  turning  disdainfully 
away,  without  answering  her  ques- 
tion, when  he  remembered  how 
far  he  was  from  home,  and  he  said, 
"Yes,  ma'am,  I  remember  it  quite 
well." 

"Well,  now,  you  don't  say  so!" 


A UNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  43 

cried  out  the  old  lady  greatly 
delighted.  "La  me,  who'd  a 
thought  you'd  kept  it  in  mind  sich 
a  long  spell.  But  it's  jes  like 
Harner,  your  mother;  she  alays 
'niember'd  everything  from  the 
time  she  was  a  leetle  thing,  an7 
it's  no  ways  'sprisin',  cause  it's 
kinder  natral  to  the  family  to 
keep  things  in  mind.  There  was 
Harner' s  mother,  my  sister  that 
was,  never  forgot  nothin',  nor  I 
nuther.  But,  la  me,  here  I'm 
keepin'  on  ye  a  standin'  out  o' 
door  when  you  mus'  be  drefful 
tired,  seein'  as  how  you've  took 
sich  a  long  walk.  But  mebby 
now  you  didn't  walk  all  o'  the 


44  DAINTY  MA  TJR  ICE. 

way;  praps  you  got  a  chance  o' 
ridin'  a  piece  with  some  teem  a 
comin'  this  way;  didn't  you, 
Morris?" 

"  I  came  with  our  carriage,"  re- 
plied Maurice,  haughtily.  "Zeke, 
our  coachman,  drove  me  over." 

At  this,  Aunt  Poor  stepped 
from  the  door  and  looked  about  to 
see  the  carriage. 

"  Zeke  has  gone  back  with  the 
carriage,"  said  Maurice,  under- 
standing the  look  and  anticipating 
the  question.  "I  have  come  to 
stay  with  you  till  to-morrow 
night,"  he  added  with  a  heavy 
heart. 

"I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed 


A VNT  POOR  AT  HOME.  45 

the  old  lady,  greatly  pleased. 
"Weil,  now,  that's  kind  o'  ye, 
Morris,  to  come  an'  see  your  old 
aunt,  an'  stay  a  spell  with  her, 
an'  it's  kind  o'  David  an'  Harnar 
to  let  you  come.  I  was  beginnin' 
to  think  'at  they'd  mos'  forgot  'at 
they  had  an  old  aunt  out  here, 
but  I  was  wrongin'  'em,  'cause 
they've  sent  their  little  boy  out 
for  a  visit." 

"They  didn't  send  me,"  rose  to 
Maurice's  lips,  but  ere  he  could 
speak  his  Aunt  Poor  put  her  hand 
very  kindly  upon  his  head  and 
looking  earnestly  at  him  said, 

"Harner's  hair  an'  eyes  an' 
skin,  but  David's  nose  an'  month ; 


46  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

the  very  picture  on  'em  both. 
Puty  hansoni  boy,  but  mos'  too 
puny.  Looks  too  much  like  a 
gal ;  that's  cause  he's  brought  up 
like  a  gal,  stays  in  the  house  with 
Harner,  an'  eats  cake  an'  sass  an' 
sich  like.  Don't  like  to  see  a  boy 
brought  up  like  a  gal — never  did ; 
don't  like  to  see  one  look  like  a 
gal — never  did.  But,  la  me,  I 
won't  stan'  here  a  talk  in'  no 
longer;  come  in,  Morris,"  and  she 
took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
into  the  house. 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  47 


CHAPTER  V. 

MAURICE    SEES    MORE    STRANGE  THINGS. 

'^OOK  like  a  girl!"  repeated 
Maurice  angrily  to  himself, 
for  he  felt  quite  manly,  "  I'd 
rather  look  like  a  hyena,  enough 
sight."  But  smothering  his  re- 
sentment he  suffered  himself  to 
be  led  into  the  house  and  took  the 
proffered  chair  in  silence. 

After  asking  numberless  ques- 
tions his  aunt  excused  herself  for 
a  few  moments,  and  went  out, 
when     Maurice     embraced     the 


48  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

opportunity,  thus  afforded  him,  of 
taking  a  survey  of  the  room. 
How  stiff,  how  bare,  how  dreary 
it  looked  "to  him.  No  bright 
carpet  upon  the  floor,  no  lace 
curtains  dressing  the  windows,  no 
sofas,  no  easy  chairs,  no  pictures 
adorning  the  walls,  no  vases  on  the 
mantle,  no  richly  bound  books 
upon  the  table,  "no  nothing." 
What  a  difference  between  the 
room  and  those  to  which  he  had 
always  been  accustomed!  The 
bare  floor  painted  yellow,  was 
something  quite  new  to  him.  The 
stiff  black  chairs,  with  white  rush 
bottoms,  ranged  along  the  wall, 
seemed  very  funereal.     The    tall 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  49 

clock,  so  tall  that  it  almost 
reached  the  ceiling,  was  a  novelty 
indeed.  It  seemed,  as  it  stood 
there  so  stiff  and  upright,  like 
some  sentinel  watching  him,  and 
its  solemn  monotonous  tick  tock, 
tick  tock,  increased  the  loneliness 
and  desolation  that  oppressed  him. 
The  uncurtained  windows  seemed 
to  glare  at  him,  and  the  pine 
table,  with  straight  slender  legs 
between  them,  covered  with  a 
black  oil  cloth  plashed  over  with 
a  medley  of  red  and  green  figures, 
looked  as  if  he  could  never  sit  by 
it  with  his  book  upon  a  winter 
evening.  The  large  Bible,  hymn 
book,    and    almanac,    which    lay 


5 0  DAINTY  MA  URICE. 

upon  a  round  stand  in  the  corner, 
seemed  sighing  for  company,  and 
altogether  the  room  had  an  in- 
fluence over  him  very  far  from 
cheering. 

He  did  not  know  what  he 
should  do;  he  felt  strangely,  as 
he  had  never  done  before;  he 
thought  he  was  going  to  die.  He 
got  up  and  walked  to  one  window 
and  looked  out;  then  he  walked 
to  the  other  window  and  looked 
out,  but  although  the  sky  was 
blue  and  the  sun  was  shining,  and 
the  trees,  that  were  scattered  here 
and  there  around,  were  gorgeous 
in  robes  of  gold  and  crimson, 
everything  wore  a  funereal  aspect. 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  51 

He  could  see  nothing  but  gloom  in 
the  blue  sky,  the  sunshine  and 
brilliant  autumn  leaves. 

Some  crows  flew  over  and  settled 
down,  like  a  black  cloud,  upon  a 
tall  maple,  just  over  the  way, 
and  which  looked,  in  the  bright 
sunshine,  as  if  draped  in  gold,  and 
commenced  cawing  noisily.  Al- 
though cawing  of  crows  had 
always  been  very  unmusical  to 
him,  and  he  had  always  despised 
the  sombre  looking  birds,  he  now 
envied  them,  they  seemed  so 
happy  chattering  away  in  the  tree 
top ;  envied  them  their  wings  too, 
for  he  felt  if  he  only  had  a  pair  he 
would  soon  fly  away  home. 


52  DAINTY  MA  UB WE. 

" 0  dear !  how  can  I  stay  in 
this  dreadful  place  till  to-morrow 
night?"  he  groaned  to  himself. 
"What  a  fool  I  was  to  send  Zeke 
back  so  soon !  I'd  rather  give  a 
thousand  silver  cups,  and  dollars 
too,  than  to  stay  here  a  single 
hour.  0  dear!  what  shall  I  do?" 
and  he  was  just  ready  to  cry  when 
the  door  opened,  and  a  woman, 
with  a  tall  gaunt  figure,  square 
shoulders,  long  neck,  and  a  face 
sallow  and  shrivelled,  entered, 
knitting  away  upon  a  long  blue 
woolen  stocking,  or  part  of  a 
stocking,  as  she  walked  into  the 
room. 

Maurice  turned  around  expect- 


MORE  STItAXGE  THIXGS.  53 

ing  to  see  bis  aunt,  but  stood  still 
in  amazement  as  he  beheld  the 
strange  looking  woman.  He  had 
a  taste  for  beauty;  he  loved  to 
see  not  only  handsome  houses  and 
furniture,  but  a  handsome  woman 
handsomely  dressed.  His  mother's 
fair  face,  with  its  delicate  bloom, 
her  soft  brown  curls,  and  graceful 
form  elegantly  attired,  was  very 
pleasing  to  him.  But  his  mother's 
housekeeper,  Charity  Clarke,  with 
her  thin  face  and  awkward  figure, 
was  very  distasteful  to  him.  He 
thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
person  so  ugly  in  looks  as  Charity 
Clarke,  and  although  she  was  very 
clever,    and   an  excellent   house- 

5* 


54  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

keeper,  he  often  pleaded  with  his 
mother  to  discharge  her  and 
employ  some  nice  looking  young 
woman  instead  of  a  shrivelled  up 
old  maid. 

11  Ugh !  how  ugly  !"  said  Mau- 
rice to  himself,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  as  he  scrutinized  the 
woman,  taking  in  at  a  glance  the 
hard  angular  figure,  the  coarse 
garments,  the  thin  lips,  the  long 
nose,  the  small  but  piercing  eyes, 
the  round  forehead,  and  sparse 
sandy  hair  tied  high  upon  the 
head,  and  surmounted  with  a 
large  horn  comb.  "Ugh!  how 
ugly!"  he  repeated  to  himself,  as 
he  turned  back,  without  speaking, 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  55 

towards  the  window  and  looked 
out.  "A  great  deal  uglier  than 
Charity  Clarke." 

The  woman  did  not  seem  to 
notice  Maurice's  uncompromising 
demeanor,  but  came  forward  and 
dropped  down  upon  a  chair  at  the 
other  window,  sitting  up  stiff  and 
straight,  as  if  her  back  needed  no 
support,  and  knitting  away  as  fast 
as  if  her  life  depended  upon  the 
completion  of  the  blue  woolen  stock- 
ing. At  first  she  did  not  speak; 
but  cast  quick  sharp  glances  at 
Maurice  across  the  table  which 
stood  between  them.  By  and  by, 
after  a  longer  and  sharper  glance 
she  piped  out  in  a  shrill  voice, 


5 6  DAINTY  MA  UEICE. 

"So,  little  boy,  you've  come  a 
visitin'  your  Aunt  Poor,  Laint 
you?" 

Maurice  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  laughing  aloud  at  the  sound 
of  the  strange,  unharmonious  voice, 
but  he  commanded  himself,  and 
replied  haughtily,  "I  have  come  to 
make  Mrs.  Poor  a  short  visit, 
ma'am." 

"  Well  now !  I  thought  sartin 
'twas  your  Aunt;"  said  the  voice, 
more  sharply,  if  possible,  than 
before,  while  the  needles  were  still 
for  a  moment  in  the  shrivelled 
fingers.  "I  thought  sartin,  'at 
Miss  Poor  sed  it  was  her  nephew 
'at  had  come  a  visiting  on  her." 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  57 

"Mrs.  Poor  is  my  mother's  aunt 
I  believe,"  replied  Maurice, 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  the  rela- 
tionship ;  "  but  I  have  never  seen 
her,  at  least  I  do  not  remember  her, 
and  she  does  not  seem  anyway 
related  to  me." 

"Well  now!  how  ken  it  be?" 
exclaimed  the  woman,  with  strong 
emphasis,  for  she  remembered  how 
well  she  had,  in  her  own  childhood, 
loved  her  friends. 

"  You  aint  a  bit,  little  boy,  like 
I  was  when  I  was'nt  no  bigger  an' 
you  be.  Now  there  was  old  Aunt 
Green,  that  married  my  marm's 
uncle,  'at  I  never  see  in  all  my  life, 
but   I    always  heard  about   her, 


58  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

an'  I  call'd  her  aunt,  jus'  as  long's 
she  lived,  an'  I  do  yet  when  I 
speak  on  her ;  an'  I  thought  a  sight 
on  her,  an'  I'm  jus'  so  yet.  Now 
there's  Miss  Poor  aint  no  relation 
o'  mine,  but  she  seems  dreffnl  near. 
I've  lived  with  her  now— lem'me 
see — nigh  on  fourteen  year — jus' 
's  long  's  Charity  Clarke  's  lived 
with  your  mother.  An'  now  I 
think  on't  I  must  ask  'bout  Charity. 
Charity  an'  me  used  to  be  'mazin' 
thick  when  we  was  young  gals. 
"We  was  born  and  brought  up  in 
the  same  place,  but  since  we  went 
out  to  live  we  haint  seen  much  on 
each  other — lem'me  see-I  haint 
seen  Charity  since  she  come  here 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  59 

once,  a  good  spell  ago,  nigh  on 
six  year  I  guess.  I'd  like  to  see 
her  'mazingly,  an'  I've  been  talk- 
ing— me  an'  Miss  Poor — 'bout  goin' 
over  some  clay  to  see  your  mother 
and  Charity.  Lem'me  see — did 
you  say  Charity  was  smart  ?" 

"  Charity  is  quite  well,"  replied 
Maurice,  stiffly. 

"Glad  to  hear  on't,  there's  no 
better  gal  'n  Charity ;  that  I  ken 
say,  for 's  I  sed  before,  we  was  born 
an'  brought  up  in  the  same  place, 
and  I  hed  as  good  a  chance  a 
knowing  about  Charity  as  any 
body,  'cause  we  were  drefful  thick 
and  always  together.  But  I  guess 
we'd  bes'  go  in  tother  room,  I  kin- 


60  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

der  concate  it 's  a  little  chilly  in 
here  when  there's  no  fire,  and  I  am 
dredful  feard  of  the  rumatiz  that 
I  am  always  a  getting ;  and  besides 
it  seems  a  most  time  fur  me  and 
Miss  Poor  to  be  arter  getting  sup- 
per," and  she  glanced  up  at  the  tall 
clock  that  stood  in  the  opposite 
corner.  "But  there's  one  thing  that 
I  kinder  feel's  if  I  mus'  speak  on 
fore  we  go  in  'tother  room,  an'  I 
hoj)e  you  won't  take  it  onkind  of 
me  if  I  jus'  take  the  liberty  o' 
tellin'  you  that  you'd  bes'  call 
Miss  Poor  \  aunt,'  cause  she  sits  a 
drefful  sight  by  you,  an'  'twould 
hurt  her  feelins  'mazinly  to  call 
her  Miss  Poor.     But  come,  now, 


MORE  STRANGE  THINGS.  61 

you'd  bes'  go  with  me  in  tother 
room  where  there's  a  fire.  .  I  alays 
think  a  fire  makes  a  room  kinder 
cheerful  like,  and  that's  why  I 
alays  like  a  kitchen  better  'n  a 
keepin'  room;  parlor,  spect  you 
call  it  to  yer  house.  Come  les' 
go,"  and  she  rose  from  her  chair 
very  deliberately  and  walked, 
knitting  away,  into  the  adjoining 
apartment,  whither  Maurice  did 
not  choose  to  follow  her. 


62  DAIXTT  MAUltlCE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
MAURICE      IS      HOMESICK. 

7PUM!  if  this  is  the  parlor,  I 
\  wonder  what  the  kitchen 
r  must  be!"  said  Maurice  to 
himself,  casting  a  disdainful  look 
around  as  the  woman  left  the 
room.  "She  needn't  ask  me  to 
go  out  there,  for  I  won't  do  it.  I 
don't  want  to  get  into  a  gloomier 
place  than  this  is.  Ugh!  it's 
enough  to  give  one  the  horrors," 
and  he  turned  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  again,  but  saw  nothing, 


MAURICE  IS  HOMESICK.  63 

as  before,  to  interest  liira.  At  first 
lie  thought  he  would  run  over  to 
the  barn,  but  he  did  not  like  barns, 
as  boys  generally  do,  nor  horses, 
nor  cows ;  so  he  gave  up  that  idea 
at  once.  He  looked  towards  the 
maple;  the  crows  had  all  flown 
away  and  he  felt  lonelier  than 
ever.  He  wondered  how  the 
horses  and  cows  and  sheep  could 
seem  so  contented  in  such  a 
dismal  place.  He  thought  that 
everything  must  feel  just  as  he 
did,  and  he  was  so  heart-sick  that 
it  seemed  as  if  he  should  lie  down 
and  die.  He  felt  that  he  would 
give  the  whole  world,  if  he  had  it, 
to    be    back    home    again.     The 


64  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

quiet  and  loneliness  of  the  room 
and  the  monotonous  tick  tock! 
tick  tock !  of  the  tall  clock  in  the 
corner  became  unbearable,  and 
he  caught  up  his  hat  and  started 
for  the  kitchen,  feeling  that  the 
company  of  his  Aunt  Poor  and 
the  strange  woman  would  be  a 
relief,  or  at  least  would  be  prefer- 
able to  being  alone  in  so  desolate 
an  apartment. 

Upon  opening  the  door  an  odor 
that  he  could  not  endure  greeted 
his  senses,  and  he  was  about 
retreating  when  the  shrill  voice 
piped  out,  "  Come  along,  little  boy, 
an'  make  yourself  to  hum ;  here's 
a  chair  for  ye  by  the  fire." 


MAURICE  IS  HOMESICK.  65 

"Yes,  sonnie,  come  along  an' 
set  down  here  by  the  fire,  where 
it's  more  cheerful  like,  an'  me  an' 
Thankful  can  talk  a  leetle  to  ye," 
joined  in  Aunt  Poor,  rising  partly 
up  and  turning  around  a  little; 
for  she  was  engaged  in  stirring 
something  which  was  cooking 
upon  the  coals.  "  I  telled  Thank- 
ful to  go  in  'tother  room  again 
an7  try  an'  be  a  little  entertainin', 
for  I  was  'feared  you'd  be  for 
get  ten'  lunsome  in  there  all  alone 
by  yourself;  but  she  was  'feared 
she'd  be  arter  gettin'  the  rhumatiz, 
cause  the  hain't  been  no  fire  in 
there  this  fall,"  and  it's  kinder 
chilly  like  fur  them  that's  use  to 

6* 


66  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

bein'  over  the  fire,  an'  she  sed  'at 
she  guessed  you'd  be  for  couiin' 
out  here  byrnby,  an'  I'm  glad  'at 
you  hav,  'cause  I  didn't  wan't  you 
to  get  lonesome  an'  homesick  the 
fust  time  'at  you  iver  come  to  visit 
on  yer  Aunt  Poor ;  and  I  wanted 
to  hev  you  right  here  too,  where 
me  and  Thankful  can  talk  a  bit 
to  you ;  me  and  Thankful 's  drefful 
fond  o'  children,  an'  'tain't  often 
'at  we  get  a  chance  o'  seein'  one, 
cause  we  hain't  got  no  little  boys 
or  gals  for  'em  to  come  to  see. 
Here  set  down,  sonnie,  an'  make 
yourself  to  hum,  an'  byinby  well 
hev  supper.  Mebby  you'd  like  a 
bit  o'  somethin'  to  eat  'for  supper ; 


MAURICE  IS  HOMESICK.  67 

boys  are  most  allays  hungry, 
'specially  when  they've  been 
ridin'.  Thankful,  jes'  step  to  the 
pantry  an'  get  sonnie  a  slice  o' 
bread  and  butter." 

11  Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  do  not 
want  any.  I  am  not  hungry  in 
the  least,"  spoke  up  Maurice 
quickly,  indignant  that  his  aunt 
should  propose  giving  him  a  slice 
of  bread  and  butter  as  if  he  were 
some  little  half-starved  pauper. 

"You'd  bes'  hev  a  piece, 
sonnie,"  said  Thankful,  rising 
from  her  chair.  "  I'll  put  a  nice 
mess  o'  maple  sugar  on't;  jovl 
like  maple  sugar,  don't  you, 
sonnie  ?" 


68  DAINTY  MA  URICE. 

"My  name  is  Maurice,  ma'am," 
said  Maurice  haughtily,  his  checks 
flushing;  for  he  was  angry  at 
being  called  "sonnie,"  and  at 
having  a  piece  of  bread  and 
butter  and  sugar  offered  to  him. 

"La  me!"  exclaimed  Thankful, 
looking  in  surprise  at  Maurice's 
angry  countenance.  "I  allays 
thought  children  liked  to  be  called 
•  sonny '  an'  '  sissy,'  they  allays  did 
in  my  day.  When  I  was  a  little 
gal  every  body  allays  call'd  me 
1  sissy ;'  I  never  went  by  no  other 
name,  an'  I  was  dreflul  fond  o' 
b^in'  call'd  so  too.  But  mebby 
'tain't  the  fashin  now  's  'twas  in 
my  day,    an'   seein'  's  how  you 


MAURICE  IS  HOMESICK.  69 

don't  like  it,  I'll  call  you  by  yer 
name — lem'me  see,  what'd  you 
say  'twas !" 

"Maurice,  ma' am." 

"Mor-ris,"  repeated  Thankful, 
slowly ;  "  well  that's  a  purty  name 
enongh,  but  'tain't  one  'at  I'm 
much  used  to;  but  I'll  try  an' 
call  you  by  it,  cause  I  allays  like 
to  please  folks,  if  I  can,  an'  so 
does  your  Aunt  Poor.  Well, 
Morris,  will  you  hev  a  piece  o' 
bread  an'  butter  with  some  maple 
sugar  on't?  When  folks  hev 
been  a  ridin'  they're  apt  to  get 
hungry,  as  Miss  Poor  says,  an' 
mebby  you'd  bes'  hev  somethin' 
to  kinder  stay  yer  stomach  till  me 


70  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

an'  Miss  Poor  get  the  vittles  onto 
the  table ;  it  '11  be  quite  a  spell 
'fore  supper's  ready." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  do  not 
wish  for  anything  to  eat,"  said 
Maurice  in  a  tone  which  indicated 
that  he  wished  no  further  urging. 

"  0,  well,  if  you  don't  want 
anything  you  needn't  hev  it," 
returned  Thankful,  resuming  her 
knitting,  which  she  had  for  an 
instant  laid  aside. 

Maurice  sat  for  a  few  moments 
by  the  fire,  and  then,  disliking 
the  odors  of  the  kitchen,  arose  and 
went  out. 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  71 


CnAPTER  VII. 

MAURICE    LOSES    HIS    APPETITE. 

t  GH !  how  I  do  hate  the  smell 
of  cabbage  I"  said  Maurice  to 
himself,  with  a  look  of  disgust, 
as  he  closed  the  door  after  him. 
"It's  enough  to  kill  any  one! 
But  it  seems  I'm  doomed  to  smell 
it,  for  it's  nothing  but  cabbage, 
cabbage,  cabbage  wherever  I  go. 
It  was  cabbage  at  home  to-day 
for  dinner,  and  now  it's  cabbage 
here  for  supper.  Aunt  Poor  must 
love  it  dearly,  I  think,  that  she 


72  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

must  needs  warm  it  up  for  supper. 
The  ugly  stuff !  how  I  do  hate  it ! 
I  wouldn't  taste  of  it  if  I  were 
starving  to  death.  I  wonder 
Aunt  Poor  isn't  going  to  get 
something  else  for  supper.  I 
really  hope  she'll  have  something 
that  I  can  eat,  for  I'm  just  as 
hungry  as  a  bear  for  all  I  told 
that  woman  I  didn't  want  any- 
thing to  eat.  The  old  thing! 
She  must  think  I  am  a  baby  to 
offer  me  a  piece  of  bread  and 
butter  and  sugar.  I  really 
wonder  how  small  I  must  look  to 
her.  Hum,  bread  and  butter  and 
sugar!"  and  his  cheek  flushed 
with  indignation  as  he  stepped 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  73 

from  the  stoop  and  looked  around. 
He  glanced  up  the  road,  and 
then  down;  walked  a  little  first 
in  this  way  and  then  in  that,  but 
he  saw  nothing  and  met  nobody, 
and  he  wondered  what  use  there 
was  of  having  a  road  where  no 
one  lived  and  no  one  travelled. 
He  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
himself.  He  pulled  the  downy 
beard  from  the  thistles,  which 
grew  all  along  the  fences,  and  set 
them  to  sailing  in  the  air,  but  he 
could  not  watch  them  and  imagine 
they  were  fairies  with  silver  wings, 
as  he  sometimes  did.  He  went 
to  the  maples  and  picked  up 
some   of  the  bright  leaves   that 


74  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

were  scattered  all  over  the  ground, 
but  he  threw  them  down  again, 
wondering  how  he  ever  thought 
they  were  pretty.  He  looked 
toward  the  woods;  they  seemed 
dark  and  gloomy,  and  made  him 
feel  more  lonely.  He  went  to- 
ward the  shed,  thinking  he  would 
look  at  the  sheep,  but  they  had 
gone  to  the  barn  for  the  night. 
"  What  shall  I  do?"  he  cried  out, 
clasping  his  hands  in  despair. 
"How  can  I  stay  in  this  horrid 
place  till  to-morrow  night !  I  shall 
die,  I  know  I  shall!"  and  he  burst 
into  tears. 

Just  then  he  was  startled  by 
what,    to    him,    was    a    frightful 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  75 

sound.  Looking  toward  the  house, 
from  whence  it  proceeded,  he  saw 
Thankful  standing  in  the  door 
"blowing  upon  something  which 
she  held  in  both  hands.  In  his 
curiosity  to  know  what  it  was 
he  dried  his  tears,  and  forgetting 
his  dignity  he  ran  up  to  her  crying 
out,  "What  is  that  thing  upon 
which  you  are  blowing,  Thankful." 

"A  shell." 

"A  shell!"  replied  Maurice  in 
surprise,  eyeing  it  intently. 
"What!  that  great  thing  a 
shell  ?" 

"  La  me !  I  wonder  if  you  hain't 
never  seen  a  shell  before,"  said 
Thankful. 


76  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

"I  should  think  likely  I  had/' 
returned  Maurice,  quite  nettled. 
"  I  have  seen  thousands  of  shells. 
I  have  got  a  sight  of  'em  at  home, 
but  I  have  never  seen  one  like 
this.  Well,  there's  no  great 
beauty  about  it,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing it  in  his  hand;  " it's  nothing 
but  a  great  coarse,  clumsy  tiling, 
and  if  you  think  you  make  music 
by  blowing  upon  it,  you  are 
greatly  mistaken,  for  it  sounds 
horridly." 

"  La  suz,  little  boy,  I  don't  blow 
on't  to  make  music,  I  on'y  blow 
on't  to  let  Gid  know  'at  supper's 
ready.  It  shows  you  hain't  never 
been  to  yer  Aunt  Poor's  before, 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  '  77 

nor  no'wers  else  out  in  the  country 
'mong  folks  what  ain't  fash'nable, 
for  if  you  lied  you'd  a  seen  an' 
heerd  a  concli  shell,  an'  knowd 
what  it  was  for.  But  there  comes 
Gid ;  you  see  the  shell 's  fetch'd 
Mm,  so  we'll  go  in  now  an'  eat, 
'cause  supper  's  all  onto  the  table, 
an'  Miss  Poor  never  likes  to  hev 
it  kept  waitin',  fur  the  vittles, 
what's  warm,  to  get  all  cold. 
Come,  hurry  along,  Gideon,"  she 
called  out  to  a  young  man  who  was 
slowly  approaching.  "  What  on 
airth  you  lagging  back  so  fur?" 

The  young  man,  thus  addressed, 
stepped  briskly  forward,  casting 
sidelong  glances  at   Maurice  out 


78  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

of  a  pair  of  rather  sleepy-looking 
blue  eves.  "He  intent  better 
be  called  Goliah,"  said  Maurice 
to  himself,  as  he  surveyed  Gideon's 
athletic  form  and  great,  ruddy 
face.  "I  hope  they  don't  ex- 
pect me  to  eat  with  him,"  he 
continued,  his  cheek  flushing; 
"  they'll  find  themselves  mistaken 
if  they  do.  I'll  let  them  know 
I've  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
eating  with  workmen ;"  and  he 
turned  up  his  nose  in  disgust. 

He  had  quite  a  mind  not  to 
go  in  to  supper  at  all,  and  he 
would  not  if  the  happy  thought 
had  not  just  then  occurred,  that 
perhaps     a    separate    table    had 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  79 

been  prepared  for  him  and  his 
aunt.  He  glanced  quickly  around 
upon  entering,  but  he  saw  no 
separate  table,  and  he  felt  strongly 
inclined  to  refuse  to  sit  down  ; 
but  he  was  very  hungry,  and 
so  he  took  the  proffered  seat. 
Instead  of  bowing  his  head  and 
listening  to  the  blessing,  which 
his  aunt  was  asking,  he  looked 
eagerly  around  to  see  what  there 
was  upon  the  table. 

"Hum!  what  a  supper!"  he 
exclaimed,  silently,  contrasting 
the  plain  food  and  coarse  earthen- 
ware with  the  dainty  repast,  the 
china  and  silver  with  which  his 
mother's     tea-table    was    alwavs 


80  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

spread.  "  Cabbage  and  pork  and 
Dutch  cheese ;"  and  he  raised  his 
lip  contemptuously.  ""Who  ever 
heard  of  such  things  for  supper? 
There  isn't  a  thing  on  this  table 
I'll  taste  of — not  a  thing! — only 
the  molasses — maple,  I  suppose 
it  is — and  sweetmeats.  I  declare, 
if  the  spoons  ain't  pewter;  nothing 
but  old,  black  pewter!  I  won't 
touch  one  of  'em  if  I  starve,  that 
I  won't;"  and  his  brow  grew 
cloudy  and  sullen,  and  he  shut 
his  teeth  tightly  together. 

After  Mrs.  Poor  had  asked  the 
blessing  she  poured  the  tea,  and, 
handing  a  cup  to  Maurice,  she 
said,    "  Lem'me     see,     I've     put 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  81 

cream  an'  sugar  in;  now,  mebby, 
you  don't  take  it  with  trimmins', 
do  you,  Morris." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Maurice, 
stiffly. 

"Well,  I  kinder  thought  you 
did,  'cause  children  allays  likes 
things  sweetened  up.  Now,  Mor- 
ris, jest  reach  your  plate,  an' 
lem'me  help  you  to  some  of  this 
ere  warmed-up  cabbage,  an'  a 
slice  o'  this  ere  pork." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  never 
eat  cabbage  nor  pork,"  replied 
Maurice,  disdainfully. 

"  This  ere  aint  like  salt  pork," 
said  Mrs.  Poor,  taking  a  slice 
upon   ter   fork;     'it's    pig-pork, 


82  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

jes'  corned  a  lee  tie,  with  a  streak 
o'  lean  an'  fat — better  Lev  a  slice, 
Morris,  an'  a  leetle  o'  this  ere 
cabbage ;  it's  nice." 

"Please  excuse  me,  ma'am," 
replied  Maurice,  in  a  tone  which 
plainly  indicated  that  he  wanted 
no  further  urging. 

"  0,  well,  if  you  don't  want 
any  you  needn't  hev  any,"  said 
Mrs.  Poor,  laying  the  slice  of 
pork  upon  her  own  plate.  "  'Spose 
you  ain't  use  to  hevin'  no  sich 
fur  supper.  "Won't  take  any 
Dutch  cheese  nor  baked  apple, 
neither?  Guess,  mebby,  you'd 
like  some  o'  this  ere  maple  lasses 
to  eat  with  your  bread  an'  butter, 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  83 

an'  some  o'  this  cherry  sass.  It's 
done  up  in  maple  sugar,  an'  it's 
rael  nice,  Thankful  sez.  Hev 
some,  Morris?" 

"Thank  you,  I  believe  not," 
replied  Maurice,  greatly  vexed, 
for  he  really  wanted  some  of  the 
molasses  and  preserves,  but  he 
would  not  allow  himself  to  eat 
with  a  pewter  spoon. 

"Won't  hev  'lasses  nor  sass!" 
cried  out  Mrs.  Poor,  in  surprise. 
"Beats  all;  thought  all  children 
was  fond  o'  lasses  an'  sass.  Don' 
no  nothin'  what  you'll  eat,  Mor- 
ris; 'pears  there  ain't  nothin' 
on  the  table  you'll  taste  on. 
Can't  giv'    you  no  cake,   'cause 


84  DAINTY  MA  UR ICE. 

we  hain't  got  none  in  the  house ;" 
and  Mrs.  Poor  seemed  troubled. 

"Mebby  he'd  like  a  piece  o' 
this  ere  apple-pie,"  said  Thankful, 
taking  up  a  knife.  "Won't  you 
hev  a  piece,  Morris?  it's  drefful 
good,  fur  yer  Aunt  Poor  made  it, 
an'  there's  nobody  'at  can  make 
sich  pies  as  yer  Aunt  Poor."  Mor- 
ris was  not  very  fond  of  apple- 
pie;  it  was  too  common  for  him, 
and,  besides,  he  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  eating  pie  for  supper, 
so  he  excused  himself,  and  ate 
only  a  small  piece  of  bread  and 
butter.  He  took  up  his  spoon 
several  times,  before  he  thought, 
to    stir    and    sip    his    tea,    but 


LOSES  HIS  APPETITE.  85 

dropped  it  again  very  quickly, 
and  drank  from  his  cup.  Mrs. 
Poor  was  anxious  because  he 
ate  so  little,  but  Thankful  said 
that  she  guessed  that  he  would 
come  to  his  appetite  in  the  morn- 
ing, at  which  she  was  encouraged. 


DAINTY  MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A      NIGHT      AT     AUNT      POOR'S. 

'HE  table  was  soon  cleared  off, 
the  dishes  washed,  the  floor 
swept,  and  a  little  round 
stand  set  out  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place, upon  which  was  burning 
a  long  tallow  candle  in  a  tin 
candle-stick,  painted  red,  and 
figured  off  with  black  and  yellow. 
Mrs.  Poor  brought  forward  a 
basket  filled  with  stockings,  which 
she  carefully  examined,  after 
which  she  took  a  ball  of  yarn  and 


A  NIGHT  AT  A TJNT  PO OR ' S.         87 

a  long  needle,  and,  putting  on 
her  spectacles,  sat  down  by  the 
stand  and  commenced  darning 
the  stockings.  Thankful  took  a 
seat  opposite,  and  employed  her 
hands,  as  usual,  in  knitting. 

Maurice  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  himself.  He  was 
homesick  and  heartsick.  Every 
moment  seemed  an  age.  He 
looked  around  the  room ;  there 
was  nothing  in  it,  only  a 
few  splint-bottomed  chairs,  the 
pine  table,  upon  which  they  had 
eaten,  a  tall,  blue  cupboard,  and 
the  stand  upon  which  the  long 
tallow  candle  was  burning.  The 
candle  danced,  and  flickered,  and 


88  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

smoked.  At  one  moment  it 
burned  up  brightly,  and  the  next 
seemed  as  if  going  out.  The 
tallow  melted  and  ran  down  over 
the  candle-stick,  which  distressed 
Maurice  exceedingly. 

"The  hateful  thing!  it's  worse 
than  no  light  at  all,"  said  he 
to  himself,  and  he  turned  away, 
and  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  It  was  very  dark 
and  cloudy,  without  even  one 
star  to  relieve  the  gloom.  The 
wind  moaned  drearily,  and  an 
owl  screamed  from  the  maples. 

"0,  dear,  what  shall  I  do," 
groaned  Maurice,  and  he  turned 
from  the  window  and  sat  down, 


A  NIGHT  AT  A UNT  POOR'S.         89 

feeling  as  if  he  could  not  possibly 
survive  the  evening.  Mrs.  Poor 
and  Thankful  tried  in  vain  to 
engage  him  in  conversation;  he 
would  not  talk — he  was  too 
wretched. 

Presently  Gideon  came  in  with 
a  large  basket  filled  with  corn, 
which  he  commenced  shelling. 
He  asked  Maurice,  playfully,  to 
help  him,  but  Maurice  declined, 
and  he  made  no  further  attempt 
to  speak  to  him.  The  hours 
passed  slowly  away,  but,  at 
length,  the  tall  clock  in  the 
"keeping-room"  struck  nine. 

Ere  the  last  stroke  had  sounded 
all  work  was  laid  aside,  and  the 

8* 


90  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

large  Bible  and  hymn  book 
brought  and  placed  upon  the 
stand.  Thankful  and  Gideon 
assumed  attentive  attitudes  while 
Mrs.  Poor  read  a  chapter  and 
a  psalm,  in  a  clear,  distinct  tone. 
A  hymn  was  then  sung,  after 
which  all  kneeled  but  Maurice, 
and  Mrs.  Poor  offered  up  an 
humble  petition,  commending  her- 
self and  family  and  her  young 
friend  to  the  kind  care  of  the 
Father  of  all. 

Prayer  being  ended,  Mrs.  Poor 
lighted  a  candle  and  conducted 
Maurice  to  his  room.  He  glanced 
quickly  around.  It  was  a  small, 
low-walled    chamber,    very    neat 


A  NIGHT  AT  A UNT  PO OR ' 8.         91 

and  tidy,   but,  like   the  rest  of 
the  house,  scantily  furnished. 

"  Hum !  who  ever  saw  such 
an  empty  room?"  cried  out 
Maurice,  as  Mrs.  Poor,  after  wish- 
ing him  good-night  and  pleasant 
dreams,  closed  the  door.  "No- 
thing but  two  old  chairs,  an  old 
chest  and  a  bed !  I  shan't  sleep 
a  wink  to-night  in  this  dismal 
old  hole.  I  shall  die  before  morn- 
ing, I  know  I  shall;"  and  he 
threw  himself  down  upon  the 
chest,  resolved  to  sit  up  all  night, 
for  he  felt  that  he  should  go 
quite  crazy  if  he  should  lie 
down  in  the  darkness.  By-and- 
by    he    became    so    tired    and 


92  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

sleepy  that  he  sprang  up,  and,  un- 
dressing as  quickly  as  possible, 
crept  into  the  bed,  which  was 
very  soft  and  clean;  and,  ere 
he  had  time  to  think,  he  was  fast 
asleep. 

How  tranquil  and  profound 
were  his  slumbers  in  that  sweet, 
snowy  bed!  and  how  refreshed 
he  felt  when  he  awoke  in  the 
morning!  At  first  he  did  not 
know  where  he  was,  everything 
seemed  strange  to  him,  but  in 
a  moment  he  remembered  all, 
and  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  con- 
gratulating himself  that  he  would 
not  have  to  spend  another  night 
under  the  roof  of  his  Aunt  Poor. 


A  NIGET  AT  A UNT  PO OR ' S.         93 

He  was  glad  that  it  was  morning, 
but  he  did  not  thank  the  good 
Father  for  watching  over  him 
while  he  slept,  or  ask  for  guidance 
or  protection  through  the  day. 
There  was  no  praise  or  gratitude 
in  his  heart;  he  did  not  kneel 
before  his  Maker,  but  dressed 
himself  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  hastened  down-stairs. 

As  he  opened  the  door  an  un- 
savory odor  greeted  his  senses. 
"Ugh!  if  they  ain't  going  to 
have  codfish  for  breakfast!"  he 
exclaimed,  silently.  "How  I 
hate  it !  Codfish  and  cabbage ! 
Ugh !  the  very  thought  is  enough 
to  make  a  body  sick." 


94  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Poor 
bade  him  a  very  cordial  good- 
morning,  and  asked,  kindly,  how 
he  had  slept,  to  which  he  replied 
in  a  most  ungracious  manner. 
At  table  he  declined  taking 
any  of  the  fish,  greatly  to  Mrs. 
Poor's  disappointment,  for  she 
had  prepared  it  very  nicely; 
neither  would  he  touch  the  corn- 
cake,  or  a  potatoe. 

After  drinking  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  eating  a  morsel  of  bread 
and  butter,  Maurice  excused  him- 
self and  went  out.  The  air 
was  chilly,  the  sky  was  over- 
cast; and,  as  he  looked  up,  he 
cried    out,    "How   cloudy    it  is; 


A  NIGHT  AT  A UNT  POOR'S.         95 

it  is  going  to  rain.  What  shall 
I  do?  Kain,  or  no  rain,  I 
don't  stay  here  through  this 
day.  I  should  die,  I  should 
starve  before  night.  0 !  if  I 
were  beyond  that  woods!  I 
could  get  a  chance  ride  home, 
I  know.  But  it's  more  than 
a  mile  to  the  woods,"  he  cried, 
despondingly,  "and  a  long  way 
through  it.  But  there's  so  much 
to  see,"  he  added,  taking  courage ; 
"  so  many  birds,  and  squirrels, 
and  everything,  that  I  wouldn't 
mind  it  at  all ;"  and,  without 
even  going  in  to  say  good-by  to 
his  aunt,  he  started  forward  at  a 
brisk  pace  toward  the  woods. 


96  DAINTY  MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOST     AND     FOUND. 

'HE  wood  was  reached  ere  long. 
The  road  through  it  was  broad 
and  pleasant,  and  for  some 
time  Maurice  pursued  it  steadily. 
By-and-by  he  saw  something 
gleaming  brightly  through  the 
evergreens,  and  he  left  the  road 
to  see  what  it  was.  When  he 
reached  the  spot  he  found  the 
shrubs  covered  with  beautiful, 
scarlet  berries.  While  he  was 
gathering  some  of  them  to  take 


LOST  AND  FOUND.  97 


**£&* 


Lome,    a  large   bird,  with   black 
and  yellow  wings,  spotted  breast, 
and  a  tuft  of  scarlet  upon  its  head, 
came  fluttering  along  close  by  him. 
"What  a  splendid  bird!"   ex- 
claimed Maurice.     "  I  never  saw 
such  a  beauty.     I  mean  to  catch 
it ;"  and  he  threw  down  his  ber- 
ries and  ran  after  it.     "  Now  I've 
got  you 1"  he  cried,  after  making 
several   fruitless   attempts  to  se- 
cure it,  but  the  bird  again  eluded 
his   grasp.      He  did   not  despair 
of  catching  it,  and  he  ran  on,  in 
the  excitement  of    the   moment, 
through   bushes  and  briars,  over 
stone   walls   and   rail  fences,  re- 
gardless of  time  and  distance. 


98  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

His  strength,  at  length,  failed, 
and  he  sank  down  exhausted 
upon  the  ground.  For  some  time 
he  lay  panting  and  breathless; 
but,  by-and-by,  he  revived,  and 
rose  to  retrace  his  steps. 

He  knew  not  which  way  to  go. 
He  wandered  hither  and  thither, 
searching  for  the  road.  Hour 
after  hour  passed  by.  His  feet 
became  sore  and  his  bones  ached. 
His  limbs  were  stiff.  He  could 
proceed  no  further,  and  he  lay 
down  to  rest.  Sleep  stole  over 
him,  and  he  dreamed  that  he  killed 
the  beautiful  bird,  and,  while  his 
mother  was  engaged  in  preparing 
it  for  him  to  eat,  he  awoke. 


LOST  AND  FOUND.  99 

He  was  hungry  and  thirsty — 
never  before  had  he  so  felt  the 
pinches  of  hunger  and  thirst.  He 
looked  around  for  some  berries, 
but  he  could  find  none.  He  saw 
a  squirrel  with  a  nut  in  its 
mouth,  and  he  tried  to  find 
where  the  nuts  grew,  but  he 
could  not. 

"What  shall  I  do?  I  shall 
starve  to  death !  I  shall  die 
in  the  woods !"  he  cried  out,  in 
the  greatest  alarm.  "How  dark 
it  gets!  Night  is  coming  on, 
and  I  will  be  eaten  up  by  the 
wild  beasts."  He  rushed  fran- 
tically around,  trying  in  vain  to 
find  the  road.      At  length  he  sat 


100  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

down  in  despair,  feeling  that  his 
time  had  come  to  die. 

His  mind  was  very  busy.  He 
thonsrht  of  everything  —  thought 
of  his  parents,  and  how  dread- 
fully they  would  feel  when  his 
body  was  found,  if  it  ever  was 
found ;  thought  of  his  Aunt  Poor's 
place,  and  wondered  how  he  could 
call  it  lonesome  and  dismal. 
How  he  wished  he  had  stayed 
there!  How  he  regretted  that 
he  had  not  eaten  of  the  food  pro- 
vided for  him !  How  he  won- 
dered that  he  had  always  been  so 
dainty  and  troublesome ! 

While  he  sat  indulging  these 
reflections  evening  came  on.     The 


LOST  AND  FOUND.  101 

woods  grew  dark;  the  night  birds 
cried,  and  the  wind  sighed  through 
the  pines.  Maurice  was  benumbed 
with  the  cold,  and  faint  from  terror, 
hunger  and  fatigue.  An  owl,  just 
above  his  head,  gave  a  terrific 
shriek,  and  Maurice  shrieked  too, 
when  he  heard  it,  and  sprang  to 
his  feet.  He  started  to  flee,  but 
he  knew  not  whither  to  go. 

Just  as  he  was  read)7  to  sink 
to  the  earth  he  saw  a  light 
through  the  trees.  He  uttered  a 
cry  of  joy,  for  he  knew  a  house 
must  be  near.  His  spirits  revived, 
and  he  groped  his  way  as  well  as 
he  could  through  the  thicket. 
By-and-by    he    reached    a    small 

9* 


102  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

cabin.  As  he  passed  the  window 
he  peeped  in.  A  bright  fire  blazed 
upon  the  hearth,  beside  which  sat 
an  old  colored  man  and  woman, 
each  smoking  a  pipe.  A  dog  lay 
between  them  asleep,  and  a  cat 
was  curled  up  in  the  corner. 
Maurice  had  a  great  aversion  to 
colored  people,  and  he  would  have 
recoiled  under  any  other  circum- 
stances from  entering  the  cabin. 
But  now  he  knocked — a  voice  bade 
him  come  in.  He  opened  the  door 
— a  strong  odor  of  cabbage  and 
tobacco  smoke  saluted  him.  At 
any  other  time  he  would  have 
turned  up  his  nose  and  retreated 
in  disgust;   but  now   he  walked 


LOST  AND  FOUND.  103 

directly    in    and    briefly    related 
his  little  story. 

Much  sympathy  was  expressed 
by  the  old  man  and  woman  for 
the  lost  boy.  They  bade  him 
welcome  to  their  humble  home, 
and  vied  with  each  other  in 
trying  to  make  him  comfortable. 
The  table  was  soon  set,  and 
the  contents  of  a  kettle,  con- 
sisting of  pork,  cabbage,  potatoes 
and  Indian  dumplings,  were  taken 
up  and  placed  upon  it,  together 
with  a  loaf  of  brown  bread  and 
a  cup  of  molasses,  which  consti- 
tuted the  evening  meal.  Maurice 
took  the  seat  assigned  him  at 
the    table,    and  partook   heartily 


104  DAINTY  MA  XJRICE. 

of  everything  upon  it,  not  even  ex- 
cepting the  cabbage.  The  dessert, 
of  Indian  dumplings  and  molasses, 
tasted  better  to  him  than  the 
daintiest  dish  had  ever  done,  and 
he  made  use  of  the  pewter  spoons 
as  readily  as  if  they  had  been 
silver. 

As  they  arose  from  the  table 
the  door  was  unceremoniously 
opened,  and  a  voice  cried  out, 
"Hello,  Sambo,  dere's  a  boy 
los'  some'rs  in  dis  yer  woods, 
an'  you  mus'  cum  an'  help  tin' 
him.  He  wuz  visitin'  on  ole 
Miss  Poor,  an'  she  tought  he'd 
got  a  chance  hum  dis  mornin', 
but  dere's  a  man  cum  arter  him, 


LOST  AND  FOUND.  105 

an'  he  sez  de  boy  mus'  be  soine'rs 
in  dis  yer  woods,  an'  we  mus' 
fin'  him,  or  he'll  be  dead  'fore 
mornin',  so  jes'  cum  'long,  Sambo." 

"I'm  the  boy!  I'm  the  boy!" 
shouted  Maurice,  rushing  from 
the  house  fairly  wild  with  joy. 

"Yah!  yah!  yah!  hea',  wha' 
you  gwine  to?"  cried  the  man. 
"'Spects  you'll  get  lost  'gin, 
mebby,  ef  you  don'  wait  fur 
dis  yer  nigga  to  help  you  long. 
Hea' — 'tain't  dat  'ar  way  dat 
you  mus'  go.  De  man  an' 
bosses  dis    yer  way." 

Maurice  stopped  at  the  call, 
and,  after  thanking  his  kind 
entertainers,  who  were   standing 


106  DAINTY  MAURICE. 

at  the  door,  followed  bis  guide 
through  the  woods  to  the  road, 
where  Zeke,  with  the  carriage, 
was  awaiting  him.  He  returned 
home  with  his  heart  throbbing 
with  joy  and  gratitude.  That 
day's  experience  proved  a  bless- 
ing to  him.  He  was  Dainty  Mau- 
rice no  longer.  He  partook, 
thankfully,  of  whatever  was  pro- 
vided for  him ;  and  he  always  re- 
membered, with  grateful  emotions, 
the  day  he  was  lost  in  the  woods. 

THE    END. 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


J*  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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